


Feeding the Fire

by versti_fantur



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Classic glanniþro, Fluff, M/M, dark?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versti_fantur/pseuds/versti_fantur
Summary: And now Íþróttaálfurinn was beneath him, relaxed and vulnerable, the tanned expanse of his skin beneath Glanni’s large, pale hands. He could outline every blemish, trace every ridge and scar, or make more if he wanted to.//more classic glanniþro i am,, really in the glanniþro zone lmao
Relationships: Glanni Glæpur/Íþróttaálfurinn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Feeding the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> enjoyyy <3 uwu

Glanni’s hands were soft as he rubbed small circles into the bruised skin on Íþróttaálfurinn’s back, feeling the bunched and tensed muscles slowly begun to relax beneath his deft fingers. Íþróttaálfurinn lay face down on top of the off-white bed sheets, his head turned to the side as he rested it on his folded arms, Glanni straddling the small of his back. Around them, the dingy motel room darkened as the sunlight faded outside the window, but neither of them said anything. They hadn’t meant to, but slowly, their breathing had synchronised. Quiet in the still air.

Occasionally, Glanni would catch a nerve, pressing down too harshly into a bruise, or between two ribs, and Íþróttaálfurinn would inhale sharply, letting out a long, slow whine, which brought a half smile to Glanni’s lips. Whispering as he leaned forward, he pressed soft kisses between Íþróttaálfurinn’s shoulder blades in lieu of an apology, leaving deep purple stains all over Íþróttaálfurinn’s skin. Like flowers blossoming. Like bruises.

This wasn’t how Glanni had planned to spend the evening; no, right now he was supposed to be having dinner with a local drug baron, to get her support for one of his possible future schemes—not that he really needed it, it was more the free meal he was after—but on his way there, as he slunk through the unlit backstreets of downtown, he’d spotted him. Íþróttaálfurinn, walking stiffly beneath his leather jacket, his usually calm face twitching in pain with every step; Glanni couldn’t stop himself from abandoning his plans to go and help. He hadn’t thought twice. He didn’t know when that had started happening, not when it came to being _nice_ to Íþróttaálfurinn.

He hadn’t meant to get so attached to the muscular blond; at first it had been that he was something nice to look at every once in a while—short cropped hair peeking out from underneath that ridiculous cap that Glanni wanted to tangle his fingers in and pull, _hard_ , just to hear what sounds he’d make, to expose his golden throat; and thighs so strong they could crush Glanni’s head between them if he wanted to. (If he was being honest, which Glanni rarely was, he’d probably let him.)

But then, as Íþróttaálfurinn pursued him, scheme after scheme, foiling some, being outsmarted by others, Glanni had come to almost respect him, in a way. His quick thinking and dedication, his seemingly unbridled enthusiasm and passion for everything he set his mind to was almost admirable. Even if the ‘thing’ in question happened to be landing Glanni in jail.

It wasn’t long before Glanni noticed that no one else ever seemed to be tracking him down, not even people that had followed him for months, years even. No, now it was only a familiar flash of yellow spotted out of the corner of his eye, blunt words interrupting him mid-con, and a hand around his bicep leading him away. It never lasted long though, Glanni always outwitting him before he could be dragged off to prison, but the thrill of the chase was exhilarating. Really, he should’ve been concerned by quite how much he was enjoying it, but he’d never been one to deny himself pleasure when it was so readily available.

As soon as he knew he had Íþróttaálfurinn’s attention though, he put it to use; always making sure his heels were a little taller, his hemlines a little higher, and his makeup a little more extravagant. He wanted to toy with him, throw him off his game, so Glanni could one-up him. And yet, when he found Íþróttaálfurinn’s eyes lingering, his gaze felt hot on his skin, lighting every nerve ending on fire and sending shivers up his spine.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew what he was feeling. Knew it was a weakness, a liability. But maybe he could exploit it and have a little fun too.

He’d always been good at lying. Especially to himself.

And now Íþróttaálfurinn was beneath him, relaxed and vulnerable, the tanned expanse of his skin beneath Glanni’s large, pale hands. He could outline every blemish, trace every ridge and scar, or make more if he wanted to. Íþróttaálfurinn knew about the switchblade Glanni always had tucked into the side of his boot. Knew Glanni hadn’t removed them before jumping onto the bed. But his slow exhales and soft noises as Glanni worked his way down his back told him that he didn’t care, that he trusted him. Glanni didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

He almost wanted to hurt him, just to prove that he still could.

But no. He couldn’t. Not now, anyway. Not in such a cowardly way that wouldn’t give him a chance to fight back. Glanni was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

(There was also the part inside of him that twisted and hut whenever he thought about doing that to Íþróttaálfurinn. He didn’t know how to feel about that, either.)

Giving Íþróttaálfurinn’s shoulders one last squeeze, he leant forward, and pressed a kiss to the base of his neck, grazing it with his teeth just to feel him squirm beneath him, before rolling to the side, resting on his arm so he could watch Íþróttaálfurinn stir back to life.

“Thank you,” Íþróttaálfurinn murmured softly, opening his eyes to look up at Glanni, sharp blue in the darkness of the room as he reached out, taking Glanni’s hand in his. The callouses on Íþróttaálfurinn’s thumb were rough as he gently stroked his knuckles.

“You owe me now,” Glanni replied with a smirk, detangling their hands and wriggling closer, his gaze dropping to Íþróttaálfurinn’s lips.

“How should I repay you?” Íþróttaálfurinn pushed himself up onto his side so they were on the same level, but Glanni grabbed his arms, pushing Íþróttaálfurinn onto his back and pinning his arms above his head as he straddled his waist, leaning down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss.

“I have a few ideas.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos brighten my day ^-^ luv yall


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